


Teeth And Talon, Tooth and Tail

by Le0na



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Dragons, Gen, HTTYD AU, I Doubt I Have The Chops, I Will Do My Best To Write Something Worthy Of Zuko's Redemption Arc, Not Just A Re-name Or Re-skin, Somewhat inspired by a Tumblr Post, This Will Change The Story Of Both, but I'll try
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:35:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25559674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Le0na/pseuds/Le0na
Summary: A dragon is captured by a tribe, years after their last dragon attack. But the memories and scars haven't faded.A young man, an inventor with a decent ratio of succeeded to failed inventions. They say a man who sleeps with a machete under his pillow is a fool all nights but one. Paranoia isn't paranoia if it snags you a dragon.Hakoda doesn't know what he's signed up for.Iroh's a schemer.Title subject to change
Comments: 128
Kudos: 583





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MuffinLance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuffinLance/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Salvage](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21116591) by [MuffinLance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuffinLance/pseuds/MuffinLance). 



Cold.

Wings straining against rope. Cable cutting into his body. Pain.

_“Be careful nephew.”_

_He’d scoffed. But out of the corner of his eye, genuine concern. He’d nodded. Confidence was good, but there was no need to be careless. No need to think nothing could threaten him, could hurt him._

_That was how people died._

He groaned. Smoke obscured already halved vision. Pressure bound his snout shut. His legs were pinned against his sides. Looking back on it, he could have shifted out of the ropes. Looking back on it, he could have done many things. Looking back on it, he was a fool. A fool with a head injury.

_The crew was hungry. Zuko was hungry. Uncle was hungry. Hungry people were unhappy people, and unhappy people weren’t pleasant. The crew’s flights were never pleasant to begin with. Too much sea and too little land. No need to add the growling of stomachs to the mix._

_They had only a Halzeragik Serpent and a Uzark Halfin in their crew for the purposes of fishing._

_Few fishers got into the enough trouble to ground them with a banished leader. Zuko was many things, but a fool was not one of them. It took him a mere three days to figure out why ~~Father~~ The Alpha sent him with a flock. _

The flock neglected to mention it would’ve taken any of them an average of two hours to figure that out.

_They’d carved out a routine, three years at sea. Fly, find an island. Zuko would scout and see if there was life. If so, if it was humans, they would proceed to test each and every one. Then they’d hunt. If there was life, but no humans, they’d hunt. If there was nothing, they’d sit and rest their wings._

_Then, off to the next one._

Wind cut through his scales, dispersed smoke, and dull white cut into his good eye. Snow, just as before, just as seen from above. The further South they’d flown, the more snow, the less prey. The less humans. White was everywhere, food was nowhere, and humans somehow rarer.

They were going to turn around here, humans or no. It was Zuko’s own ~~fixatio stubborn-mindedne~~ drive which made him check. He had to be sure.

_He’d launched at sunset. His fire was weak, but dark red scales blended in better in the fading fold of the last rays than the day’s bright blue and white palette. He was among the fastest of his crew. Even if he wasn’t, he wasn’t about to let them head into somewhere he hadn’t scouted first. It was common sense. And if he didn’t come back…_

_None of_ them _were_ technically _banished._

He writhed, tail and body lashing. Legs tucked securely under his wings, fingers so tightly bound he had to sheathe his claws lest he cut himself. Bleeding more wouldn’t help anything.

A light ran down his snowy crater. It bounced off snow, mirror sharp. On his bad side, thankfully enough.

“Look dad! I got one!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will probably be edited later.


	2. Every Night But One

“A man who sleeps with a machete under his pillow is a fool all nights but one,” is an excellent saying. Sokka could handle being a fool. He had the practice. It was the “but one” he had to be wary of. Because on that night, the man wasn’t a fool. He was a survivor.

The machine he’d built was his proverbial machete, and he was out every night waiting for the “one.”

That weird kid his weird sister was hanging out with was probably sleeping. That guy was the embodiment of “play hard, sleep hard.” That _was_ the saying, right? Eh, who cares?

Sokka was gonna ask the weird kid if he’d help test his invention. Sokka was a man of few talents. He knew it, his father knew it, the whole village knew it. They didn’t have any choice. Because you didn’t need to know a lot if you were the best at what you _did_ know. Sokka wasn’t the best, yet. The “yet” was important.

He didn’t have to be yet. Dad told him that often enough. He wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. “The Council wouldn’t allow it,” he’d joked.

The Chief had to stay back with at least _some_ of the men. They couldn’t all go off to help the Earth Kingdom fight dragons. A wise choice. The dragons could strike any day!

Sure, the Council was probably more worried about hunting and unexpected decisions which needed the Chief's wisdom, but it didn’t really matter. The outcome was the same.

But back to the invention. It was one of his best yet. Each of his inventions were better than the last. That was how progress worked. Or -more often- didn’t. It’d taken him his fair share of years carving prototypes out of ice and tripping fishermen to get him where he was today. And where he was today was someone who could request _wood!_ Yes, not a lot of it at once, and the design had to be tested seven ways to sunset, but still!

He’d used this privilege to craft a most magnificent machine.

It didn’t have a name. Objects earned their monikers, just like men. Most of his machines had vocabulary expanding names and never made it past the prototypes, especially before he got good.*

But this one? This one _worked._

They’d called him ridiculous, standing out at dusk with a machine bigger than he was.

No man could throw a weighted net further than a few feet. Dragons flew far higher than a few feet. They only swooped down when they were going in for a kill. Even then, there was no guarantee they’d be in striking range. Some just breathed fire and flew right back up. Either way, dangerous.

Arrows or spears could bring one down from a greater range, but there was only so far one could shoot or throw. Even then, there was no guarantee it would bring the beast down before it finished its ravaging. If at all.

A net, on the other hand… dragons weren’t keen to attack when they were plummeting to the ice at Mach “screw you.” And they _certainly_ weren’t going to attack when Mach “screw you” met hard ice. Sokka knew _that_ from experience. There were only so many times one could crash a sled before they got an idea or brain damage.

Of course, a weapon was worthless without a target. The vast majority of Sokka prayed to everything above and below he'd never have to use it. An even greater part knew he’d have to. Eventually. How long that eventually would take was anyone’s guess. If it was to come, he hoped it was soon. Even the best treated wood crumbled after a few winters.

They say luck favors the prepared. This is just a fancy wording for “the right place and time doesn’t matter if you don’t have the right stuff.” And Sokka had the right stuff. He had the right place. It was a waiting game, one that ended sooner than he could have ever predicted.

He’d been spooked by, fired at, and ate many musk-duck-oxen in the few months his machine had been up and functional. If nothing else, it had helped his aim.

When the dragon came, his heart stopped. It was a single beast, a perfect target. Dangerous. Alone. Vulnerable. Had he not been looking he might’ve dismissed the movement above as a bird. But albatross-pigeons didn’t flap that much and musk-duck-oxen didn’t have long tails.

Countless evening’s reflexes had him firing before he fully registered what he was doing.

He thought it would be different. Something else would happen when he hit the beast. But no, it fell like muck-duck-oxen before it.

The young man stood, stunned. Had… had that really happened?

Yes.

“Dad! Dad!”

Hakoda startled, smacking his head against the igloo. “What is it-”

Sokka knew his words didn’t make any sense, and he probably should take a breath at some point. He didn’t care. His heart raced.

He held up a hand. Sokka’s ramble cut like a taut fishing line, with an almost audible “snap!”

“Stop. Breathe. Then tell me what’s going on.”

Sokka did, and his father blinked at the explanation.

“I see. Are you positive?”

Sokka nodded.

“And you know where it landed.”

Sokka was good at predicting where things landed. It was a practiced skill. Still, he paused before answering. “Pretty sure.”

Hakoda grabbed a dagger and his anorak. It was mid-spring and cold enough to take off fingers if you weren’t careful, “It’s getting dark out. We’d better hurry.”

Thus began a nerve wracking trek over the ice. Hakoda’s torch flickered with the wind. Sokka’s heart beat like the wings of a panicked bird against his ribcage. He tucked his fingers under his armpits to keep them warm. And to keep from shaking. The unlit torch in his bag was heavier than pitch-wrapped bone should’ve been.

They walked. And walked. And walked. And found it.

Even in the last rays of dusk it was easy to make out the dragon’s dark scales standing stark against pale blue ice.

Sokka’s heart beat against his throat like it was trying to break free. He scrambled to the edge of the crater the beast made when it crashed to the ice. His breath hitched and his heart couldn’t beat any faster, not even when he almost slipped in his haste.

“What do you suppose we do with it?”

Sokka froze. He’d planned for this moment. He’d kill the creature, prove his worth as a warrior.

He should’ve known better than to plan this far. Of course something went wrong.

The dragon twisted, spine rolling beneath, belly and face to the duo. It looked him dead in the eye. Something was wrong with its face. It was all but impossible to tell what by the dim light of the torch.

It thrashed weakly against its bonds, trying to get to its feet.

_Trying to get to its feet._

You didn’t kill a helpless enemy. A trapped animal, sure. But people… no. The dragon wasn’t “people.” There was a glint in its eye, intelligence. No, it wasn’t “people,” but it wasn’t quite an animal either. It stilled, great sides huffing with deep, desperate breaths.

Eyes flashed unknown colors in the torchlight. It met his gaze, nothing but shining pools of light against a dark background.

“I- I can’t do it.” Sokka ducked his head in shame. The dragon froze. Sokka froze. _Not normal._ “Does that make me weak?” He shot the dragon a not-quite-worried, not-quite-concerned, somewhat-scared glance.

Hakoda set a hand on his boy’s shoulder, “No. Never mistake compassion for weakness.”

“Are you going to...”

“Do you think I should?”

The dragon _watched_ them. Not the way an animal watches their predator close in for the kill. Something was going on behind those eyes. Something Sokka couldn’t put his finger on.

Sokka shook his head. Wrongness of offing a helpless enemy aside, he wasn’t going to get answers from a dead dragon.

“What _should_ we do then?”

Sokka had a list of problems.

  1. He couldn’t kill the dragon
  2. What are you supposed to do with a live dragon?
  3. His feet were cold



Admittedly, the third problem was less relevant than the other two, but it didn’t help matters.

He thought. And thought. And sat down so he didn’t have part of his mind occupied on standing. More room for thinking that way. And thought some more. His tongue stuck out his mouth, a tick of concentration he only noticed because it was too cold. Back in it went. He thought some more.

He sometimes considered his brain a hunting ground, his ideas seal-turtles, and his thoughts the hunters tasked with bringing home food. The hunters were all too preoccupied looking at the dragon brought down in the middle of their grounds.

A hand on his shoulder startled him from his metaphor.

“It’s okay son. You’ve done a great job so far. Mind if I take over?”

Sokka shot him a look one part grateful, one part pleading, and one part, “You’re the chief _and_ my dad. What do _you_ think?” This was not said out loud, the torch’s flickering fire giving his face more than enough light to express.

“Then go get the men. Tell them to bring the polar bear dogs and a lot of rope.”

Sokka nodded, lit his torch, and dashed off. Hakoda watched him go, waiting for his son’s fire to reach the village wall. Only then did he turn to the dragon.

Hakoda had never encountered a dragon out of battle, never had the chance to view one without it trying to kill him. In order to make anything out by torchlight he’d need to get closer. Hakoda wasn’t going to let curiosity about the beast his son _-his son!-_ brought down cloud his judgement.

He’d wait until morning to see what made his son hesitate.

None saw the approving glint of gold eyes or heard the faint beat of wings blending with arctic wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Read: before about two years ago
> 
> Re-reading this chapter, it moves a bit fast. I might edit it later, maybe add a little filler to pace it out.


	3. Starting Line

There was a problem. This surprised nobody.

Sokka made it back to the village alright, he’d managed to convince a few men -too few if they needed to fight off a  _ real _ raid- to get out of bed, and rushed back to the dragon. Hitching the dragon to the sleds even went smoothly, and there was no trouble hauling it to the village outskirts.

Hakoda made the dragon’s purpose clear. Fulfilling said purpose was where the problems reared their ugly heads.

They were to spar against the dragon. But to do that they needed three things. One, a way to suppress its fire. Two, something to keep it grounded. Three, some form of sparring ring or arena to house the beast.

The initial idea was to dig a pit and dump the dragon in. But that only solved one of the problems.

Hakoda cleared his throat, “Alright, everyone turn in for the night. Not you Sokka.” The men unhitched their dogs and shuffled back to their homes. Tui was beginning her decline in the night sky. Sokka yawned.

“You are to stay here and guard the dragon.” He opened his mouth to protest, but Hakoda held up his hand. “You were the one to bring down the beast. It will be in part your responsibility. I can not join you for this vigil.”

Sokka looked at the creature. The creature glared back. He looked to Hakoda, an unspoken question lay in the quiet between.

“If the dragon gives you issues, or you begin to lose feeling in your fingers, please let someone know. Otherwise, you must do this yourself.”

With that, Hakoda left. Sokka didn’t see the hand his father raised to his forehead, or the whispered mutterings of the barest beginnings of a plan snatched by arctic wind. Instead, Sokka settled next to the dragon, torch in one hand, hope for a quiet night in the other.

* * *

One never realized how much they relied on something until it was gone, or more grateful when it returned. In Sokka’s case, that thing was daylight. He’d long given up mapping the dragon by torchlight. It didn’t work, no matter how hard he tried. By daylight the creature’s dark red scales and body-length mane were all too visible. Sokka clamped down on the urge to run his fingers through the fur running down its spine.

The dragon had tucked its head under a bound arm some time through the night. The honest part of Sokka suspected it was around when he started telling his second story of a bungled hunt. The honest part of Sokka was drowned out by the tired and incredulous parts protests. How else was he supposed to stay awake? And it wasn’t like the dragon could understand the comedy and terror of tripping into a seal-turtle hole.

He jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder.

“Hnnn?” It wasn’t a question. But he’d been up  _ all night. _ Anyone expecting full words was fishing at the wrong ice hole.

“Goog job. Go get some rest.” Oh, it was dad. Alright then.

Sokka hauled to his feet and staggered in the general direction of his bed. Another man -one of many who’d taken secret watch over the boy and dragon through the night -because Hakoda had faith in his son but he was also the chief and couldn’t take needless risks- approached.

“What’s the plan?”

Hakoda was quiet for a moment.

“Chief?”

“... None of us know how to keep a dragon, do we?”

The watchman shook his head.

“So,” Hakoda set his shoulders, “we’re going to get some help.”

* * *

An albatross-pidgeon was sent as soon as ink dried. It never made it to port.

* * *

Hakoda managed to keep the smaller children from poking the dragon with little trouble. While difficult to wrangle, the children of the Southern Water Tribe had respect for the chief and caution of dragons drilled into them from a young age. If there was any time they’d listen, it was then.

The same could not be said for the outsider.

“Hey! It’s a fireshrike!”

The airbender -and wasn’t  _ that _ a thought, a real live airbender walking around in their little village- was far too close. The mouth might’ve been bound, but dragons with any decent length neck were apt to use their heads as bludgeons if given the chance.

The dragon didn’t disappoint. The airbender -Aang, if he was to be believed- jumped back with a burst of air.

Hakoda stared. Aang stared. The dragon stared. All for different reasons.

Hakoda didn’t realize dragons  _ could _ be burned, much less to  _ that _ extent.

Aang was taken aback by the bindings trapping it. Didn’t the Water Tribe know dragons weren’t dangerous  _ unless _ you did things like that?

Zuko looked at the human. Had he seen that right? Did it just… was it possible? Might he go home after so  _ long? _

The dragon thrashed, unable to move anything but its spine. The tail whipped about, flinging snow. Icy bindings groaned. A shout rang out. Men piled on the beast, pinning it flat to the ice. 

“How is it still warm enough to fight?!” Someone shouted. The beast bucked and fell still. The morning was still but for harsh, ragged breath.

“It’s not.” Bakku said. The older man was sitting on the dragon’s neck, close to its shoulders. One hand grabbed the sweeping, forking horns raking back from its skull, the other was fisted in a mane slightly darker than dried blood, “It’s colder than a half-finished igloo.”

“Then how...” Hakoda let the question hang.

“Don’t know, chief.”

Near freezing, it was strong enough to thrash. Better to find out now than be blindsided later. Why hadn’t it fought earlier?

A soft voice came from behind his arm, “What are you going to do with him?”

The airbender. Of course. “Stake down those bindings and build it a fire.” It wouldn’t do for the dragon to freeze. He glanced at the boy. He clutched his staff against his chest, worried gaze fixed on the dragon. The dragon watched back, good and ruined eye burning into him. Hakoda had never heard of a dragon able to set its victims on fire with a look, but the beast before them was giving its best try.

Hakoda put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and led him towards his igloo.

“There’s something you should know,” he said, “but first, what  _ precisely _ is a ‘fireshrike?’”


	4. Preperations

Two weeks. The boy had been among them for two weeks. Long enough for his side glances at their furs to fade, long enough they stopped offering him warmer things to wear. Not quite long enough to realize he was a veritable  _ fountain _ of dragon knowledge.

Not knowledge about how to to hunt them, how to bring them down, no. He knew  _ other _ things. Things Hakoda couldn’t have used before today.

They’d gone over speed and heat, the conversation moving to food.

“You’re familiar with the be-  _ creatures.  _ How much do these dragons need to eat?”

“A few decent sized fish every day, if they’re resting.”

“‘Resting?’”

“Not flying or breathing fire or stuff like that.” Aang said.

It was do-able. Spring would be upon them in one of Tui’s cycles, and the fish were plentiful. La was generous in her gifts. A few extra fish would not begrudge the village. Hakoda was planning extra ceremony times as they spoke. One could never be too careful. Not with spirits, nor the dragon. Which raised a different problem.

“How do we feed it?” The question was to the boy as much as it was Hakoda asking himself. The rope on its snout was the only thing keeping the beast from turning them to ash. The boy looked at him strangely.

“Through its mouth?” It was a question, as though he wasn’t sure what they were asking, “Why are you tying it up?”

Hakoda  _ stared. _ If Hakoda’s question had Aang unsure, the boy’s own  _ baffled _ the chief. He went from leaning on to sagging into the side of an igloo. Aang looked up at him like he  _ hadn’t _ just asked a question more loaded than a successful trade ship. He looked past the airbender to one of the species which so joyously picked his brethren from the sky. Hakoda had never seen a dragon hunt airborne prey, but he’d heard stories. They’d  _ all _ heard stories.

All, it seemed, except for the one who might’ve been prey.

Hakoda didn’t want to be the one to tell him. His children already tried. They’d told the boy why their village was so small, why many elders sported burning scars and the pale slashes of long-dead dragon claws. The boy refused to believe them. Claimed dragons were neutral, even friendly to some people. Claimed to have flown beside the winged menaces.

Claimed to be over a hundred years old.

Hakoda had been suspicious. Anyone would be. It was something out of a spirit tale. But the child’s behavior… it  _ would _ explain a few things. Hakoda couldn’t see any other way the boy  _ wouldn’t know. _

Hakoda didn’t want to be the one to tell him. Hakoda knew he  _ shouldn’t _ be the one to tell him. He didn’t know the right way.  There  _ was _ no right way. He brought the boy to the elders. They would know better than he. It definitely wasn’t because he couldn’t handle breaking it to the boy that he was the last. Definitely not.

He waited outside the tent. The dragon glared at him. He glared back and watched the men triple check its bindings. To his surprise, the dragon looked away first, turning its glare of the men scurrying around it like giant isopod-dogs on a orca-wolf carcass. When Aang excited the elder's tent his fingers lingered on the furs over the entrance. Hakoda only saw the top of his head, the bald blue and pale skin reflecting early spring, late winter sun. He glanced up, and Hakoda swallowed. His eyes were gray and hollow. A similar flick of the eyes to the dragon and he flinched. A whistle pierced the wind. The sky bison was at his side in seconds. They were specks on the horizon a minute later.

He bowed his head and hoped he’d see the kid again. With the exception of the new capture, Hakoda’s village hadn’t seen a dragon in years. The rest of the world wasn’t so “lucky.”

There wasn’t much he could do about it now. Despite the elders having a decent idea where the boy was headed, sky bison flew faster than any albatross-pigeon. There wouldn’t have been anyone at the temple to receive it anyways. All Hakoda could do was pray, offer a sacrifice to the spirits, and hope.

Hope, and get back to dealing with the dragon. They still needed a safe place to put it and way to feed it.

Katara found the answer to the first problem, his son the second.

Aang had taken them for a few flights on his bison. From that height, it was easy to scope their lands. They’d seen many things they didn’t realize existed, including a large fissure hidden under the ice. One could only differentiate the dark area from high above. Katara was pretty sure she could bend enough of ice to make a decent sized pen. It would take a few days, and they’d need to send for some metal reinforcements from the continent, but it would be better than leaving the beast bound in the middle of town. The only issue was the entire thing was over open water, so they’d need to move it come summer. With any luck they’d figure out something before then. Perhaps the snow would recede from enough rocks they’d be able to form an arena… The dragon better hope so.

In the meantime, Sokka came up with a contraption to let the thing eat. It was pretty simple, consisting of a water trough and a few straps to keep the dragon’s jaws below water. The creature’s nose poked just above the line.

It struggled and thrashed like a fish on a line, but the bindings held. It could only growl and glare. Jaws snapped under rapidly reddening water.

Dragons were slow after they ate. The men worked quickly. A trimming dagger took the points from dark claws. They wrestled the creature to its new home, bindings and food-induced sluggishness the only reason it didn’t break free. The dragon tried its very hardest to maul them, drawing blood with unexpected horn flicks and a whip-crack of the tail.

They won in the end. Blood stained the ice, but the creature was in the arena. Not the true arena, that would take far more time, even with some of their men helping with picks. No, Katara had hollowed out the dragon's area first. Best to separate it from the rest of the village sooner rather than later.

* * *

Across the ice, a ship docked. It had gone missing from an Earth Kingdom yard not a day before. An old man exited the craft, a spark in his eyes and steam in his breath.

“Good afternoon,” said the man, approaching a dockhand, “I am Iroh. I heard you were in need of a dragon master?”


End file.
